


In the East

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Navy, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Aristocracy, Crossdressing, Discussions of abduction and slavery, First mate!Michael, Five Acts, Forced Feminization, M/M, Nautical Themes, Pirate!Adam, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is their first mate, the best sword on the ship, and the son of a Governor. With a word to his father, Michael can have any of them thrown behind bars when they come to port. Adam wonders if he'll be first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellacatbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellacatbee/gifts).



> Written for bellacatbee as part of the Five Acts exchange (nautical themes, underage, size kink, forced feminization, aristocracy).

When the shipmates shoved Adam against the hull and threw that gypsy's clothes in his face, they thought it would be a humiliation.

Adam keeps his head bowed, he's careful not to smile, because they have no idea what the life of a pirate has witnessed for him. He's seen true horror. He's endured much worse.

Adam wonders if Sam and Dean are in the navy crewmen's quarters again. They disappeared shortly after the sun sank below the horizon, leaving Adam to his own devices in the mess. This is how he ends up twisting the ties of a stolen bodice at his torso, flicking the short, heavy skirts at Zachariah's shoulder when the older man jeers, elbowing his shipmates as they loll from their benches, drunk and stupid. They'll be hanging over the hull by the morning.

Adam wrestles a smirk, biting the inside of his cheek. His clothes smell like rum, smoke, and spicy perfume.

These men don't realise who's reaping the most entertainment from the night's festivities.

His amusement takes a sharp turn when the ship's first mate descends into the mess. Michael towers in the narrow arch, frowning at the raucous revelry, but he would be an imposing figure even on a deserted island with only the seas at his back. Michael makes it impossible to forget his noble heritage when he stands so tall and imperious at the ship's helm.

He's also a man of few words. He doesn't need them when he beckons Adam back to his quarters with the subtlest incline of his head. Every night.

"Sorry, boys," Adam shrugs, once Michael meets his gaze in the low light of the mess. He's not sorry to make his exit. The men call after him with their filthy leers, him and not Michael, because only the stupidest of them, even at three barrels down, would speak ill of Michael.

Michael is their first mate, the best sword on the ship, and the son of a Governor. With a word to his father, Michael can have any of them thrown behind bars when they come to port. Adam wonders if he'll be first.

Adam leads the way back to Michael's quarters, the skirts brushing his bare thighs. Once the door closes behind them, Michael hooks Adam in the circle of his arms, and Adam smiles up into the kiss crushed between them. These are the only times that Adam feels small, feels how much thinner his wrists are when Michael pins them by his sides. But Adam never feels afraid. He groans happily as Michael's large hands come up under his skirt. Michael crowds Adam against the door with the shelter of his body, grinding lazily, his erection already hard against Adam's thigh.

The skirts don't leave many layers to the imagination. Adam parts his thighs wider and lets Michael feel how little he's wearing underneath. Michael groans, soft and wounded. If he was a true sailor, Adam smugly thinks Michael would be swearing by now.

"Who put you up to this?" Michael's voice is husky and whispered, the hem of Adam's skirt threading between his fingers as he kneads the cheeks of Adam's ass. Nobody else gets to hear Michael like this, or see how relieved he is to crumble. The heat in Michael's eyes makes Adam shiver as the dark gaze rakes over him hungrily. There are rumours, but no one would breathe a word of how low the Governor's son let himself be dragged by a pirate. Not until they made port.

"One guess. No, don't say his name," Adam says, carefully choosing his steps as the ship rocks under their feet. Michael's hands stay on his thighs, hitching the skirt high around his waist. Adam guides Michael to sit on the edge of the thin cot before climbing atop to straddle him with hands on Michael's shoulders. 

Michael kisses him, palming heat along the taut lines of Adam's thighs before his hands disappear underneath Adam's skirts again. Adam's gut clenches and his hips buck into Michael's hand when warm fingers wrap around his cock. He gasps into Michael's mouth, tucking as close as he can to rock against that broad chest, Michael's hand stroking him tightly. The fingers of his other hand slide between Adam's cheeks, then still in shock finding Adam already oiled and loosened and ready. 

What can he say? He had time.

"How does one so young know so much?" Michael asks him.

"How come an old man like you learns so slow?"

"I'm not thirty years, Adam."

"And I haven't seen twenty." Adam grins, voice lowering as he sucks Michael's lip into his mouth, then kisses him soundly. Michael's grip on his thigh curls possessively. "I could still show you a few things."

Michael slides a finger into him experimentally, then two. Adam breathes easily, relaxing to the warm intrusion, rolling his muscles with the rock of hips to take Michael in deeper. Adam feels so full and complete, but he knows it can be better. His hands move fast at Michael's ties before he's pulling Michael's cock free, and its heavy weight springs into Adam's palm. Michael blinks up at him, hazy and lust drunk, as Adam spreads his thighs wide and kneels over him. 

Adam's skirts cover their thighs when Adam sinks down. His eyes water at the stretch of Michael breaching him, but he holds, breathes and lets Michael guide himself in by feel, fingers around Adam's hole, his cock, knees braced under Adam's splayed thighs. The first time Michael drives into him, Adam groans tightly, heat melting his spine, and he takes holds through the skirt of the hands grasping his hips.

Air doesn't come so easily inside this bodice. He feels hot and stifled, and his clothes cling to his skin, but he doesn't think of removing them. Michael can't keep his hands off him. Adam feels every knot in his bodice like a bump along his spine, trembling with the heat of Michael's hands along his back, down his sides, and to his neck as his head falls back. Michael kisses his bared throat, buries his growl there, and thrusts up harder when Adam bears down. 

The ship groans around them, many planks of the age old Impala bracing against the ocean as heavy waves crash along the hull. Thunder cracks in the heavens outside. A storm is brewing. Michael will be needed soon on deck.

Adam sees Michael's expression clear with the same realisation. He rises up and presses fingers to Michael's lips.

"Shh." Adam kisses him, takes hold of Michael's shoulders, and begins to roll his hips in tight circles. It doesn't take long. Michael shudders, Adam bounces in his lap as Michael loses his rhythm, and the growl against Adam's lips is the closest Michael will come to a curse. 

Learning Michael's key was easy. Michael underestimated him. Adam would never make that mistake.

Michael's longer fingers are calloused and strong, winding through Adam's in the grip around his cock. Heat and light rush from his spine, curling his toes and tipping his head as he rocks forward with the present burn of Michael still resting inside him. Adam's thighs splay around Michael's waist, and he leans back, letting the skirt catch the rush of his release. Panting, he shivers in the cabin's cooling air and feels Michael suck a kiss to the base of his throat, arms curling around Adam's waist.

Feet pound on the deck above as the men race to their stations.

"Duty calls?" Adam asks, breathless.

Michael squeezes his thigh, skirt bunching in his hand. "Does the sun rise in the East?"

Adam's mouth quirks in a smile. "As it sets on Davy Jones."

"As long as you're here with me."

Adam closes his eyes for Michael's parting kiss. Michael leaves Adam sprawled on his cot with his skirts around his waist, and Adam wonders what it would take to make trouble stick to that Governor's son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment a commentor catches you in the right mood and you spit out a sequel four years later that's even longer than the original. I hope this is what you were after!
> 
> This chapter contains discussion of slavery and acts done while under said enslavement that makes this fall under dubious if not outright non-consent, regardless of whether or not Adam enjoyed it (because slavery and prostitution will always remain apt analogies for the vessel arrangement in _Supernatural_ ).

“And what’s this?”

Adam eyes the roll of parchment when Michael offers it to him. It is tied with black ribbon and bears the Governor's official seal. Suspicion gnaws at Adam’s gut.

Already he’s scanned Michael’s office for exits and cited he could make it across the desk to the high latticed windows at a quick lunge. From the sound of stuttering wheelbarrows and the calls of merchants, he gauges the drop to the alley below would be short. Adam bets he wouldn’t even break anything.

Michael is frowning when he steps into Adam’s direct path to the window, as though sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Hey,” he hushes, moves into Adam’s personal air of protection as though he belongs there, as though the lease of their agreement didn’t expire with Adam’s amnesty as soon as they sighted land. He lowers the parchment, searching Adam’s face with that concerned frown, and gently takes Adam’s shoulder. “It’s all right.”

Adam rolls his jaw, biting his cheek and the instinct to snarl. Forces himself to smile instead and can’t help when it twists into the challenge he usually reserved for the shadows of cabins and the protection of the late hour, when that smile could mean _do your worst_ and he knew Michael would try, try and always fail, because Michael was _good_ and Adam was….

“Adam,” Michael’s frown turns confused as Adam steps away, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder.

Adam sneers at the parchment. “So which prison will it be? Do I warrant that much? Or is it straight to the gallows?”

Michael looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “This is not a sentencing. It’s a pardon for your crimes.”

A pardon. Adam snorts a laugh under his breath. “For being stolen from my home? For flying under colours against my will? For doing whatever I had t—“ His voice cracks, and he didn’t even notice his throat closing until his chest is burning without air and his eyes sting. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he is angry, he’s been feinting for so long, he will _not_ be lulled into another trap.

“I know, I know,” Michael reassures, trying to close the distance. His face has softened with regret, hands raised as though trying to pacify a dangerous animal, and if he doesn’t stop, he’ll learn just how dangerous Adam can be.

“How could you know?” Adam spits in the face of his pity. He steps back as Michael advances, a stilted waltz preserving distance.  “I never told you.”

“You told me enough.”

Adam hesitates, something about the open appeal in Michael’s expression makes Adam want to strike him. What a privileged life he led that he could show such vulnerability with impunity. “I wanted to live. Is that my crime?”

Michael offers his hands, palms open, parchment lying in his right. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Adam weighs his words. “ _Let_ them.” He eyes the parchment. “So, what would I owe you for this?”

And Michael has the nerve to look surprised, even offended. His back straightens, as he draws upright. “Owe me?”

He shouldn’t look a gifthorse in the mouth, but the last time Adam tried to trust someone, he was traded like livestock and gifted to the man before him. Adam smirks and doesn’t pull his punches. “We’re not shy about our transactions, Michael. Technically, I still belong to you.”

Michael’s hazel eyes narrow, that strange green-gold of his irises that often caught in the morning light. “Don’t speak like this.”

“At least, according to your captain. Your crew. I do. Would you tell them you released your gift, granted him amnesty?”

“I do what I want.”

“And _that_ is the privilege of being you. My Lord.”

Michael’s jaw clenches, he looks away to the high bookshelves with more tomes of knowledge than Adam could hope to earn in three lifetimes, to the maps that paper his walls with all the territory of his king’s domain, and Adam can see the great effort it takes to swallow whatever retort leaped to the tip of his tongue. The spirit of the fight makes Michael the deadliest sword on his ship, but it’s the judgment he exercises now to withhold his opinion that makes him such a respected and effective first mate.

Adam wishes Michael had less restraint. He is raring for a fight.

When Michael meets his eyes again, tension still crowds his shoulders. His full mouth is turned in an unhappy scowl and Adam wants to bite it to a familiar shape of red and gasping, because he knows how to deal with that. He wants to burn the parchment poised so carefully in Michael’s fingers, he wants to take it and run, he doesn’t want to trust the thing he has wanted so badly is so close within reach. He can’t. If it’s a lie… if it’s stolen away from him when it’s so close….

“What do you want me to say?” Michael’s voice is quiet in its resignation. “Yes, I still want you. I want you safe. And I want you to be happy. You’ve too much spirit to be under lock and key, Adam.”

“No one deserves that,” Adam interrupts, coldly.

Michael nods slowly, considers the parchment again in his hands, tapping it against his open palm. “Well, I can’t save everyone. Not in a day. But I can start with you.” He offers the parchment. “Will you… _would you_ help me?”

Adam stares from the parchment to the other man’s face. “Help you?”

“Free them.”

Adam can’t be hearing this correctly. “Who?”

“The ones under lock and key.”

“… You’re not serious. Is this another trick? To make me stay?”

Michael’s mouth shrugs as he glances to the maps on the wall, the boundary lines marked in red twine with properties that are starting to alight with new meaning in Adam’s mind. “This pardon is yours, regardless of what you decide. And I’m also going after the slavers. I thought we’d start with the locals: like the businessmen who tricked you. They’re men of opportunity more than anything, basic skills and even poorer connections.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Michael smiles, that same slow grin of challenge that drew Adam across the dark cabin that very first time all those months ago. He’s serious. He’s really going to do this with or without Adam.

“I could use an advisor. I’ve trailed these men for years, but the ship – when I met you – that was the closest I’ve come to the main traders in these waters. I could use someone who knows them from the inside. Someone smart and resourceful. I know how well you played those men.”

“Zachariah,” Adam seethes, and then wonders with a hot flare of hope, could this mean he might never have to see that man again? He shakes his head. These men are dangerous and more resourceful than Michael must understand. “They’ll kill you. There’s no way your father will stand for this.”

To Adam’s astonishment, Michael’s smile widens. “Are you sure about that?”

These high collars. Out of their minds. All the fresh air up here must feed them delusions of grandeur. Stupefied, Adam can only gape, motion dumbly at the parchment in Michael’s hand as if it’s the cause of this insane venture. “They’ll kill you.”

But he doesn’t back away this time when Michael presses the parchment to his fingers, closing his hand around it. “Then I’ll need someone to watch my back.”

“They’ll kill _me.”_

The grip on Adam’s hand tightens, and Michael’s flirtatious mirth hardens to steel, eyes growing dark. “Not on my life.”

Adam searches his face for a weakness in his resolve, deflates, the crisp parchment crumpling in his fist. “Oh, you’re mad. You’re going to get us both killed.”

Michael seems encouraged by that, puffing up. “Don’t undersell yourself. I’ve seen you fire a pistol.”

“Shut up,” Adam tugs his hand free and slides his nail under the seal of the wax, finally opening the parchment to test this man’s claims. His knees weaken as he reads the words that will allow him to return to civilian life. He can barely breathe. “God, it’s real… this is… this is effective immediately.”

“I knew you could read,” Michael smiles, kisses the top of Adam’s knuckles, and Adam doesn’t even have the presence of mind to resist when Michael slides an arm around his waist, pressing them close from knees to chest as Adam reads to the end of the articles.

“Your father signed this.”

“He did.” Michael brushes a kiss over the back of Adam’s hand still clutching the parchment, all but beaming with pride.

“No clauses about you… or your family,” Adam turns the parchment over to check for fine print, but his full and immediate pardon is there in fresh ink, without further condition or indenture.

“You’re a free man.” Michael pulls back far enough to look Adam properly in the face above the parchment between them, expression serious. “But I meant what I said. I would be honoured to have you at my side.”

And it must be the elation of his release that makes Adam think _maybe. Maybe they could do this._ He sighs and says, “Don’t make me regret this.”

Michael laughs like a dam of joy breaking loose, like he’s the who was just granted clemency, and he scoops Adam around the waist, almost crushing him with the strength of his embrace, spinning them around in the narrow space of Michael’s office, _his war room,_ and nothing will ever be the same again.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Adam grunts, but he’s smiling when Michael sets him back on his feet, tilts his face up to the kiss when Michael leans in, hands cradling Adam’s face. A thrill shivers through him, realising it’s his first kiss as a newly freed man. He really has a choice now.

He can stay. He can go. He can fight and bring those slaving bastards to their knees.

“Does the sun rise in the East?” Michael grins, fingers pushing through Adam’s hair.

“Don’t fucking use that on dry land,” Adam grumbles against his lips at their old refrain, but he can’t stop smiling, not while Michael peppers kisses against his mouth, his cheeks, his neck; he can’t hold the laughter that bubbles out of him.

“As it sets on Davy Jones,” Michael promises, hiding his face in the curve of Adam’s neck, arms snug around Adam’s waist.

It’s a new feeling, this joy, chased by a fear in doubt of its truth, of trusting it’s real, that it’s precisely what it claims, nothing more, nothing less; and that it will still be here in the morning.

But he has a choice now. Adam fought to live, so he’s going to try.

His hands sink into Michael’s thick hair, around the broad set of his shoulders. He breathes in the fresh starch of Michael’s uniform, the clean soap of his hair. He tightens his hold and smiles, vindicated, when Michael clutches him back, gently rocking them in place.

Adam has a choice now. He’s going to fight for this, too. He’s going to fight for all of them.

“As long as you’re here with me,” Adam murmurs.

 


End file.
